


you'll miss me when you're gone

by craple



Category: Mortal Instruments Series - Cassandra Clare
Genre: Blood Drinking, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Future Fic, Implied Relationships, Multi, Vampires
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-03-05
Updated: 2012-03-05
Packaged: 2017-11-01 12:36:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,624
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/356864
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/craple/pseuds/craple
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“You’ll miss me when you’re gone,” she said, licking her lips. Simon leaned close, brushed his lips softly against hers, and said nothing. “The three weeks you’ll have to pass, for your Shadowhunter friends and Magnus, you will—“</p>
<p>“I know, Camille,” he whispered, smelling the scent of grapes and apple from her soft golden hair, pulling her close. “I know.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	you'll miss me when you're gone

**Author's Note:**

> Based on Gym Class Heroes’ song, _‘Ass Back Home’_. The song itself doesn’t really have any real-base for this story; but I like the _‘you’ll miss me when you’re gone’_ line. It’s arrogant, interesting, and so very Camille. And if you’re wondering, yes, I just totally and shamelessly wrote a ~~godfcking~~ porn for these two, gods be damned, because I can’t find any stories about these two aside from mine. So yeah. Enjoy.

The thick overwhelming scent of fresh blood filled his nostrils, clouding his mind and what was left of his senses. Everything seemed to blur, twisted and merge into thousands of colors, and his eyes could only focus on the wound and blood that ran down the length of a woman’s arm, which was pale and scarred, covered in mud and dry blood and small branches. He could smell the salty scent of tears and sweats, the sour stench of her armpits and the urine on her underwear, the smell of rabbit’s blood smeared down her thighs and under the broken nails of her toes, but none of them fascinated him as much as the blood on her wrist. It smelled good, _much better_ even, than the other horrible stenches that came from her body. He supposed he could handle that just fine.

She had told him before that once he started drinking, he would not be able to stop until the last drop of this person’s blood had been drained and he was thirsty no longer. He asked whether the woman could still be saved in her current condition if he were to refuse the offer and bring her to the hospital instead. She smiled and told him no as she stripped the thick light-brown materials of her coat over her shoulders, revealing black tank-top and pale-milk skin underneath. Simon looked away and focused at the woman underneath him. The wound had been torn apart rather messily, he observed. It looked like it was bitten by a starving lion or an alligator of some sort, though it was only ten-inches wide. If he was still human, he would have felt sick and probably vomited right there on the pastel-colored tiles. But he was not human, so he did not do any of that.

Experimentally, Simon pressed his lips against the wound; light at first, then harder after the first ten seconds, and he parted his lips to let drops of blood to flow into his mouth. His tongue flicked out almost immediately, and he gave a long hard lick across the wound. The woman moaned beneath him, her thighs flinched and her back ached, from pain or pleasure he did not know. The taste of blood had flooded all of his senses once again, and he wanted nothing but sank his fangs into the wound and drained the blood out of this woman—whoever she was. Be patient, she would say, they always tasted a lot better when you’re being patient. He remembered his lessons and he remembered them well—the perks of being a vampire, she said—and he would not mess this up. So he shifted his weight and positioned himself until he was straddling the woman’s legs, rolling his hips against her, pressing his stiff erection against her crotch. Her reaction was just like what he had expected.

The woman moaned and whimpered, helplessly and lustfully beneath him, and bucked her hips against his to gain more friction. Simon complied and smiled softly, burying his face against the crook of the woman’s neck and whispered _things_ against her ear. Things that he never thought he would ever say to a woman because it’s disgusting. Things that only whore and not a technically sixteen-year old teenager would ever say to their lovers. The woman whimpered and practically fucking Simon through her soaked underwear, and Simon groaned when his jeans became too tight around his cock. He planted a kiss on her neck, biting softly, though not with his fangs as to not drawing blood _yet_ , and brought her wounded wrist to his lips once again. His tongue searched for the taste of her blood, and he was extremely pleased when it tasted so very much _better_ than before.

“It always tastes sweeter when they submit,” Camille said, watching him intently from the spot on her king-sized bed, dressed in nothing but thin blood-red silks and black underwear. “But the taste grows more intense and much more delicious when they’re horny.” She finished, smiling and amused, big emerald eyes shone in mischief and something else. Simon did not say anything and started licking at the wound. His nails dug deeper around the skin, drawing more blood, making the woman whimper and moan louder than before, thrusting against him, begging him to move and give her _more_. He complied, and started unbuttoning his jeans when Camille’s voice stopped him short.

“Are you not going to offer your dinner to your teacher, Simon?” her voice was seductively sweet and sensual, amusement lingered in each word as she spoke. Her accent was different too, he realized. The British accent had changed into that of French, and the sound of it went straight to his already-hard cock. He swallowed, crawling off the woman’s lap and sat awkwardly beside her instead, fingers slipping into the cotton of her underwear and teasing the wet lips almost shyly. The woman choked and sobbed in surprised, hips rolling against his hand, urging him to go deeper, but he stayed and waited, dark brown eyes locked with Camille’s bright emerald ones.

“Would you, ah… like some, M’lady?” Simon asked, feigning nervousness, feigning innocence, talking in a low tone that Camille had taught her a few weeks ago— _coy, seductive, sensual, teasing, always teasing_ —and smirked when she blinked in surprise. He felt dirty and corrupted, like a dirty little slut, but sluts didn’t kill their lovers or drained their blood during sex, and he wasn’t sure whether he was better or worse. He knew the answer as soon as his mind processed the question in his head, but he did not want to think, not now when he was hungry and needy, and a beautiful tan-skinned athlete was laid down in front of him, delicious and so fucking _horny_. He watched Camille smiled and walked up to him; her dress swaying softly around her legs, her breasts swaying sensually beneath the silk, nipples hard and chest flushed. She told him to straddle the woman’s legs again, or basically just _fuck her senseless and be done with it_ , and he did.

Simon took off his jeans along with his shoes and his boxer, heaving a sigh of relief when his cock was finally free. He positioned himself in front of the woman’s entrance, leaning close to her neck and handed her wrist to Camille. She sat beside him on the floor, fingers toying with the hem of her panties, and he fought the urge to run back to her and rip the garments apart like he had done so many nights before. He torn the woman’s shirt instead, both of his hands seeking her breasts, big and soft and _beautiful_ , squeezing them hard enough to bruise as he pushed the head of his cock past her entrance. She came before he was fully inside of her, and he realized that Camille had sunk her fangs into her wrist first. He laughed—the vibration made the woman hot and horny for him all over again—snapped his own fangs out of their cages, sank them into the pulse on her neck, and started moving his hips sensually against hers.

Camille always drank gracefully and lady-like even when she’s like this. He had seen Raphael and one of the vampire women in his clan did the same, yet none of them looked as beautiful as Camille was. The sight of her, stunning and gorgeously sexy and simply _perfect_ beneath the transparent red dress made his erection growing more impossibly harder than before, and he started ramming furiously in-and-out of the woman’s entrance even after she came for the tenth time already. He didn’t stop even when she’s sobbing and moaning and kept saying his name and that she couldn’t hold for long but she didn’t want him to stop yet she kept thrusting her hips against his for more. She grew limp and her body spent, blood drained out of his face and neck, and finally, Simon pulled out, still hard and unsatisfied as ever.

Before he could do anything, Camille threw him back against the cold tiles, ripping his clothes to shreds and kissing him senseless. Her lips tasted of blood and wine and chocolate, eager and wet and more delicious than the woman’s blood. He pulled her panties down because he knew she didn’t like it when he ruined her clothes and thrust into her rough and quick without any hesitation. He suddenly remembered why they never did a quick sex before.

Camille was tight and hot and _fucking tight_ around him. She threw her head back when he entered; a loud throaty moan escaped her red glossy lips, nails digging painfully into his back. He liked the pain. It aroused him and encouraged him to _finally_ move, even though he’s near orgasm and he’s already high on the seventh plane. He rolled his hips, relishing the sound of her hips slapping against his, memorizing the beautiful sounds she made as he fucked her, and finally kissed her full on the lips as they both came on each other’s lap.

None of them needed to breath, but they liked role-plays and she liked the sound of his ragged breathing as much as he loved hers. They waited for a moment, hair messy and bodies glowing, smiles of pleasure on their flawless inhuman faces.

“You’ll miss me when you’re gone,” she said, licking her lips. Simon leaned close, brushed his lips softly against hers, and said nothing. “The three weeks you’ll have to pass, for your Shadowhunter friends and Magnus, you will—“

“I know, Camille,” he whispered, smelling the scent of grapes and apple from her soft golden hair, pulling her close. “I know.”


End file.
